


From ashes and from love

by HolyEmpress



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Hospital, M/M, coma mention, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyEmpress/pseuds/HolyEmpress





	

It's hell.

He wakes up during the night sweaty and out of breath, feeling as if his insides are trying to _break out_ , and pulls the cord for the nurses in a panic half a dozen times before they reach his room. He's crying already, having thrown all of his blankets on the floor – it hurts so much, why are the painkillers not working, _why does it feel like death is clawing at his throat ? -_ as they begin to take care of him. The world is fading around him, though his mouth is still gasping for air it doesn't find, as if the bubble that was keeping him alive had simply collapsed, and he can barely think but the thoughts that manage to form are blurred by water and full of fear, questionning incessantly, is it now, _is this how it ends, I don't want to._ It's both loud and quiet, fast and slow, urgent and too soon already, and everything disappears without a warning – he'd pictured it a bit more grandiose, the way he would go out, like the vain person that it was, but this is silence like no other. A button turned off and life disappeared with so little commotion.

 

*.*.*

 

For hours, for days, there's nothing. The beeping is reassuring ; off course, Eichi Tenshouin couldn't die, Eichi Tenshouin was expected in this earthly realm, by his side, but the machines seem to be working so hard just to make him do as little as breathing. He wishes to cover that unbearable noise with music, turn every liquid into tea, but he'd barely been allowed into his room already, so he has to behave and watch over him with no extravagance. The universe is incredibly small, and keeps shrinking as the weeks goes by. Eichi doesn't wake up when he makes flowers bloom into his hair, there's no applause when he changes the color of the walls to the most cheerful pink he can think off, and he realizes he's doing it for his own reassurance rather than the Emperor's sake, so he turns the wall back to their depressing white again. He's just a fool, but Eichi, Eichi is so important, how dare these machines do anything but sing a symphony of life?

He gets one text after the other, from Natsume and from Rei (that nokia phone of his was so resilient), Tomoya and Hokuto – he remembers he has obligations, he's supposed to be an actor, and he begins to rehearse his lines in the room, to make the people around him happy again. The monologues are shallow, and the dialogues – the dialogue dies whenever his eyes meet Eichi's limp body among that horrible setup. There's no theater good enough to snatch people away from a coma, or he's not trying hard enough, and the thought is so frightening he pulls off The Wizard of Oz and a full three-hour drama in the same day. They force him to do it with the door open, and children, with IVS poking out of their arms and gleaming eyes, come to witness his peculiar show – his heart aches, _was Eichi ever like this ? -_ some of them even interrupting, and he finds the most adorable little Dorothy midway, a girl with thick curly hair that twirls and dances like she's never seen a doctor before in her existence, ah, _such people were really natural-born twinkling stars,_ and for a few hours, he forgets, but night comes, children go to bed, and Eichi's day ends the way it had started, so he begins to wonder when his spirits are gonna break.

Natsume texts, because he's a good child, even now that he's become a frighteningly skilled senior in both magic and songs – _Wataru nii-san, you can't live by Tenshouin's bedside –_ and the next text in his phone isn't half as nice, ah, Tomoya sure had a talent for words that stung, yes, _off course he was a lovestruck, unprofessional idiot._

His mom, however, calls. Because she knows he's an idiot that won't come home otherwise, like he'd done in the past month, sleeping on the branches of that convenient tree by the hospital's entrance, sneaking into Eichi's room only once or twice or _everytime his heart wandered into its direction_ , which was, admittedly, a lot – the nurses pretended he wasn't there or really didn't see him, after midnight, he kinda did his light tricks without even thinking too much, when he was messed up, really messed up like this. _Wataru, I made soup,_ his mother declares, before losing her angelic patience, _and if you don't come home, I'll make a pact for Eichi's ghost to haunt you,_ _your mom can_ _promise_ _you_ _that much._

« _That sounds delightful, actually_ » is on the corner of his lips, but he doesn't want to upset his parents, so he packs his invisible mallet and – ah, parting is horrible, what if he dies without him to cherish the fragile, transparent dove that was his magnificent soul, what if his Emperor wakes up and perishes from _loneliness ?_ \- leaves the hospital.

For once, he doesn't feel like flying at all. The bus would do, the bus was a perfect hideout, actually – it seemed as if everybody, upon riding it, signed a secret a pact to not comment on the crying people in the back.

 

*.*.*

 

\- Wata-chan, be a good boy and finish your soup. It's _starlight,_ your favorite. Homemade, I had to get the stars from the sky the moment night fell on us, you know.

Starlight soup was the name he'd given to pumpkin soup as a kid after he'd discovered how easy it was to turn it into a shiny material for his tricks. It was one of his most creative inventions, that made it easy to look as if he was summoning little celestial bodies from the tip of his fingers, and he'd consoled a great deal of people with this magic – so what he was five, he'd beg his mom for more of the starlight soup to make everyone in his class just a little happier. She'd never forgotten about it.

He loved her more than anything – so maybe he could be honest, and he just summons roses from under her chair to give himself some sense of courage. His mom was never worth less than of the queen of flowers, she smiles when he gives it to her – he'd promised to tone it down in that department, but it made him feel so immensely better he simply couldn't help it. Eichi's hand were cold these days and didn't hold anything he put in them, so...

\- You're bothered, Wata-chan, she comments, picking a vase in her collection to put her bouquet in.

\- Mom, I…

He curses himself for struggling with words. He'd rambled all afternoon, but the words of fictional characters, written by genius was so much easier than the simple langague of uncultured fools who couldn't deal with so much emotion and despair. His hatred for sadness was his main motivation after all. Oh, stupid dreams of a world where all the negatives could be exorcised by watching Juliet and Romeo die, by witnessing the fall of Richard II and recoil in fear before the curses of the Witch of the West, but that, that selfish desire to be the only one in the world to genuinely feel hurt while the rest (Eichi, Eichi, _Eichi more than anyone)_ would go on – he didn't want to word it even a little.

\- I'm useless, he choses to say instead.

She takes his bowl of soup away and fetches him something instead. 

It's a box he recognizes and something wrapped in joyous, rainbow-colored paper that she forces into his hands a few minutes later.

\- Here's paper and your calligraphy set, and the pens I saved for my grandchildren's future, I guess they won't mind if you open their presents… Write him a letter, Wataru. And draw a picture, too. A remedy that is good for children is good for magicians as well.

She hugs him, pets his hair and watches over him as he begins to write with hesitation. He asks for the bowl of soup that she warms up in the microwave ; she ties his hair with a ribbon too – _you don't want your crush to see some braid-shaped ink stains, do you, Wata-chan ? -_ and helps him sort out his most complicated ideas before kissing him good night.

 

He spends the night working on the letter, that quickly escalates into _letters,_ the picture being much harder to compose. It's not his job and he was in on that little secret about his rival – he feels jealous of that talent, to compose silent dreams where he had to be so _loud_ all the time just to make the smallest of sparks ignite.

He starts by drawing Eichi. It's inaccurate to his beauty. He keeps going, adding himself, then Tori and Yuzuru – ah, no, _this wasn't watercolors, he had no right to cry –_ and feels some kind of unexplained frustration. This won't do. This didn't tell anything other that _I want you to be with us,_ a weak message. He doesn't throw it away, just like the letters that were too emotional and not refined enough to his taste, because rehearsals where as essential as the play itself. It meant he'd tried.

He decides to make a comic, Keito be damned.

\- _Wata-chan,_ go to bed, a voice scolds him when the first rays of sunshine poke through the blinds.

 

 

*.*.*.*

 

He's woken up by his phone bursting with text messages. _Oh_.

It's his birthday. Natsume and the others want to take him out for donuts and tea, _fine_ , both new and ex-members, have rehearsed a little something just for they beloved senior, and the reformed version of the theater club as well as his own troupe are telling him about a more-than-modern interpretation of Ionesco he absolutly has to see tonight. _I'm loved,_ he thinks to himself, but the thought takes out energy and when he stands, welcomed by adoring doves and the few stray cats he'd taken in recently, he remembers his plans for the day.

It feels like crashing from the sky.

_I'm sorry everyone. Maybe another time ?_

 

*.*.*.*

 

They tell him to go to a different aisle today. He doesn't question hit, though his heart is beating like a mad drum within his chest, at least it's not the morgue – he hates even the shape of that word – and maybe it means they're making progress. The children from yesterday pull on his sleeves when he pass by their rooms, _it's the magician !_ And he forces himself to make a least a few balloon birds and dogs before leaving them alone. Dorothy smiles when she gets a pink lion. He feels accomplished.

The door to Eichi's new room seems surprisingly unthreatening.

\- It is I, your very own Hibiki Wataru ! He declares for good measure upon entering.

For two months, there hadn't been a response to the familiar call, so he imagined the crowd from their most glorious Dream Festivals soothe the pain, where the rainbow-colored sea made him believe nothing would be impossible for them.

If it's his birthday, he can treat himself to holding hands and singing nursery rhymes.

\- Morning, my Wataru, a faint voice answers.

 

He blinks.

Eichi is still plugged into machines, thin and sickly, but the sight he'd missed is back again, these sky-blue eyes are half-open. His own body is shaking, he forces himself to step in, but _ah,_ he's real, he's really real and somehow, beautiful beyond reason. The way his hair had grown a little during these months was very charming, he looked like a prince, resting on an invisible bed of roses.

\- Your majesty has some mail to read, he says with a little nervous laugh, taking his letters out his bag.

There's a chair for him next to the bed. He sits, trying to behave, even if every inch of his skin is itching with the desire to start a party, to raise the petal storm of a decade, and more than anything, he wants to _cry of joy._

Eichi seems eerily unaware of the blessing he'd bestowed upon him for his birthday.

\- I can't read, my Wataru, he declares painfully. And I… I'm embarassed.

\- Don't be, Eichi. Aren't we here to celebrate the miracle of your life ?

Fitting into his old role after all this time is a struggle.

\- No, the frail Emperor pouts. Actually, it's … he pauses, you I have to celebrate.

_No, no no._

He rarely felt angry, even less at Eichi, but if his eyes could tell stories, he would have wanted theirs to meet, so he'd never have to describe that pain in words again, letting him know he didn't care about himself, not even one bit, in a thousand images of the bliss they'd shared on stage and off of it, then a thousand more of how he couldn't bear to be alone, and a last one, one that would spell the unbearable _I love you._

\- I don't have a gift...

Eichi tries to laugh and the laugh dies miserably in his throat.

\- Would you be so kind… he attemps, eyes idly staring at the void, to read my fanmail ? I need distraction for my miserable failures.

There, he'd done it again, _can you see you're the sun and the stars all in one ?_ But he decides to play along and forgive him.

\- I have one I believe you will find most amusing, Eichi ! He composes himself, and pulls out a letter from his stack, faking a laugh.

He'd written this one last, when all his prose had ran out, wrapped in a blanket he'd borrowed from the living room, the only convenient setup for this kind of embarassing thing, he'd learned long ago from Shu, even after the picture and the comic where they kissed at the end. It's full of teenage feelings from long ago.

\- Most beloved Emperor…

 

*.*.*.*

 

_Long ago, I was given a human home, and love presented itself to me for the first time._

_Stellar and warm, shining like the sky above, I was amazed and fell in love with the feeling itself. That a human would so kindly give another a name, a home, and serve them food, both of solid and of abstract dreams, that, I could not being to comprehend. I started to weave my thanks into a tapestry of magic and light, but it was never enough, for love could only be answered by love itself, so I went on a journey to find the true meaning of the word, and learn to express it. I learned theater – living romances through a thousand hearts, dead and reborn like a phoenix as I became familiar with the seven letters sentence._

_It was not enough, however._

_Love presented itself to me for a second time as you choked into my arms. Long before, already, you'd showed that particular shine, and I could not bring myself to slaughter such righteous, childish dreams, but when you collapsed, exhausted from a war you didn't have to wage, that had left me and you without left nor right arm – I realized love didn't have a shape, but rather a substance. It planted seeds into the ground, and I was a fertile soil, eager to receive that particular flower. You are right, it is foolish, for that flower to bloom in spite of all adversity but…_

_My love for you grew far beyond those sky-blue eyes of yours. Dreams of a teenagers started to spout in this whimsical mind, asking the questions with complicated swirls, that begged to hold your hand and kiss these beautiful songs off your mouth. My tea is named after you, was made for you, and brewing it takes an excessively long amount of time ; though it is most amateurish to reveal the secret of a trick, I wanted you to know._

_Pardon me, Emperor, for intruding upon your kindgom – even yesterday, and the day before, I disturbed your sleep. It seems I can't help it, that desire to stay next to you._

_To witness the miracle of love._

 

_Your..._

 

*.*.*.*

 

\- Your… your…

\- Hibiki Wataru, Eichi completes abruptly.

He breaks down in tears hearing his own name into that mouth, and a hand, still tethered to life through needles and tube, raises to caress the water off his cheeks.

\- That's a weird way to ask someone to be your boyfriend, he continues, panting between words, feigning a detachment he certainly didn't feel, I mean… if I'd known I had to… _die_ for you to confess, I would have done it much sooner, you know ?

\- Eichi, your heartbeat is too fast. This machine can't keep up, he comments with great concern. And neither can I, he laughs between the tears.

He feels ridiculous, ashamed, something so rare it startles even him.

\- You're a terrifying idiot. You're not supposed to cry on birthdays. The Emperor forbids it.

\- F-fine, he snifs, and a dove frees itself from his sleeve to take its place on the top of his head.

Another follows, then another – he can't suppress the reflex. Just like roses.

Eichi's nose catches a petal.

\- Wataru. _My, -_ ah, that syllabe lasts forever, Wataru.

 

He does something that's strongly advised against in his state, that of someone who hadn't moved for two months. It's a struggle, but thanksfully, Wataru is close enough and he's determined. For those two months coma had stolen from him, he wanted payback, tenfold what he'd been deprived of. There was so many more letters, he'd noticed early on, and that delightful embarassament his magician showed as he tried to perform both the character and the enamored fool was something he could go on watching for day.

So he leans to kiss his cheek.

 

\- I love you too. _Happy birthday._


End file.
